


To the Stars By Hard Ways

by Maloreiy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alien Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Aliens, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, Background Relationships, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Fun, IN SPACE!, Military Science Fiction, Outer Space, Remixed, Science Fiction, Spaceships, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 04:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17953958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maloreiy/pseuds/Maloreiy
Summary: Captain Hermione Granger and the Gryffindor crew of the Fortuna Major have been assigned a very special intergalactic mission. Unfortunately, that mission comes along with the company of some Slytherin officers, including the massively irritating blond git known as Commander Draco Malfoy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the In Another Life Dramione Fest, focused on AU stories. My 2nd-level mystery prompt, set in the science-fiction universe, was: 
> 
>  
> 
> _A captain is in need of a new crew for an intergalactic mission. Only the best will do, regardless this particular officer is irritating beyond measure._
> 
>  
> 
> **Many thanks to the moderators of the Fest for their wonderful prompts and work in putting on this Fest. Thanks to the gals in the Fest that also helped to give support and momentum as we all worked towards finishing our stories. And extra thanks for the wonderful alpha work and brain-storming from Frumpologist, as well as the pre-reading feedback from Mh Calamas.**

Hermione Granger was livid. Not a single one of her superiors had bothered to tell her the truth, probably because they knew she’d be furious at having absolutely no say in who boarded her beloved ship, the Fortuna Major.

She’d been expecting a delegation of scientists, possibly with a team of xenology-trained security specialists, and certainly a scholar or two added in for accurate documentation.

Admiral Kingsley had told her that their identities had to remain confidential until the very moment they boarded her ship, and she was happy to oblige, knowing it was an honor to be chosen for this mission in the first place. But remembering the concern in his eye, she wondered now whether the reason it had to remain confidential wasn’t to safeguard the mission from the public, but to keep her from refusing the mission entirely.

At any rate, seeing a half-dozen _Slytherins_ swaggering their slimy way up the corridor to the entrance of her ship had her seething. He _knew_. That insufferable, egotistical Admiral _knew_ and he’d deliberately not told her.

Outwardly, she tried to keep her calm, as she stood there in her full dress uniform with her entire crew, ready to welcome the delegation onboard.

But Ron and Harry were already shooting her concerned looks.

They could see what she saw. Standing just a step below her, as befit her Executive Officer—and with her lead Pilot a step below that—put them all on roughly the same plane. And the glint of unapologetically platinum blond hair at the front of those green uniforms was unmistakable.

She shook her head, almost imperceptibly. There was no choice now.

As the delegation drew closer, the black-robed honor guards—nicknamed Death Eaters because of their lethal abilities and their insatiable desire to deal death—escorted them with pomp and circumstance, and Hermione was able to make out a few more familiar faces.

The tall, dark man was undoubtedly Blaise Zabini, and the pug-faced woman at his side with her nose turned up in disdain could only be Pansy Parkinson. The two women with the same features but different colored hair was most likely the Greengrass sisters, though Hermione had no idea which was which.

Pulling up the rear and looking just as unhappy on the outside as Hermione was feeling on the inside, was Theodore Nott. She recognized that constant pinched look on his face as if he’d just stepped in something foul.

Pureblood Slytherin royalty, all of them.

And none more so than the man at their head.

His expensive, green uniform shone with an abundance of silver accents, marking him out as their highest-ranking officer. The others bunched up behind him while he led the way.

But he didn’t need those little tricks to make it clear that he was in charge. It was in the way he walked, as if he owned every inch of this stretch of corridor. It was in the angle of his head, proud and imperious. It was in the subtle smirk—the exact one that had always made Hermione grit her teeth—when he realized that she was watching him approach.

Draco Malfoy, the last scion of the House of Malfoy—the closest thing the Slytherins had to a Prince since the Federation had formed and done away with those hereditary titles.

Draco Malfoy, the most infuriating git she’d ever laid eyes on, who had done nothing but make her Space Academy days complete hell.

When he wasn’t insulting her hair and her background or sabotaging her projects, he was using his influence and charm to unfairly advance his own interests and those of his pet followers.

It looked like he had continued with those unsavory habits through into his adulthood, as Hermione could see no other way all those same specters from her childhood could end up together on her literal doorstep.

As if he knew exactly what she thinking, Malfoy’s grin only grew wider as everyone came to a stop and the Death Eaters parted to allow him to come forward.

“Greetings, Captain Granger!” he called out, far too jovially for Hermione’s taste.

She couldn’t bring herself to answer him with a smile, or even with words. A short acknowledging nod was the best she could do as she raged over spending the next two to three months locked onto one ship with him.

Fortunately for her, her XO took over.

“ _Commander_ Malfoy,” Harry said, emphasizing his title in a way that made it seem like he thought the title was an honorary one, “how unexpected to see you here today. I’d like to say it’s a pleasant surprise.” The conspicuous pause afterwards made it clear that the surprise was anything other than pleasant.

“Were you not informed that we’d be coming, Potter?” Draco raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Perhaps you’d better check your messages to find ones that you might have overlooked. I know that reading was never one of your strongest subjects.”

“Oh, we can read all right,” Ron chimed in. “We just thought we’d be getting qualified professionals, not a bunch of coddled purebloods out for a lark. Did your daddy get you this mission?”

As one, all the Slytherins eyes narrowed on Ron. Hermione was surprised he didn’t expire on the spot from the amount of animosity suddenly directed at him. He’d clearly struck a nerve.

“Enough,” she said, quietly. With a hand on Ron’s arm, and a glance at Harry, she stopped them both from continuing further.

It looked like it was once again up to her to keep diplomatic relations.

She drew herself up to her full height. “Commander Malfoy,” she said, drawing attention back to herself. “As the captain of the Fortuna Major, I apologize for the—” she paused, trying to figure out how best to apologize without lying, “—I would like to welcome you—” She paused again, cringing at her words. It wasn’t like her to not have exactly the thing she wanted to say right at her fingertips.

Inwardly, she cursed Kingsley again.

Malfoy’s ire seemed to fade into amusement as he watched her collect herself. He obviously knew they weren’t at all welcome and was enjoying watching her squirm in discomfort.

“Permission to come aboard, Captain?” he asked, after a moment. “Perhaps we can discuss both apologies and welcomes in more hospitable surroundings. I’d like to get my crew settled as soon as possible.”

She waited a beat longer than was polite to grant permission, but she noted with pride that when she did, the rest of her crew—even Ron and Harry—parted with military precision to let them pass.

Fred and George had a particularly sly look in their eyes, but she sent them a glare that would hold them off for at least a couple of hours. Hopefully.

Sighing, and sharing an eye roll with Harry behind the backs of the Slytherins, she led the way into the ship.


	2. Chapter 2

The Fortuna Major was not a large ship. It was a comfortable medium size that had enough space for a few luxuries, but was very modern, efficient, and streamlined. Hermione didn’t tolerate waste.

She also didn’t think that keeping her crew comfortable was a waste.

So the common space resembled a comfortable living room with soft couches and large chairs that you could just sink into for hours (when you weren’t on-duty, obviously). Small tables were conveniently placed and bolted to the floor, and served for holding food, or for playing games, and occasionally, when the crew was feeling silly, they could be arranged into a stage.

One entire side of the room was a window that looked out into the depth of space. At the moment, the rounded edges of the bustling military space station could be seen in the periphery. The bright light from the installation drowned out the faint starlight, but once the ship was underway the view from that window would be incredible.

The new additions to the crew stood uncomfortably just inside the borders of the room while the Fortuna Major’s regular crew dispersed and settled themselves around the area.

“Introductions, Harry,” she said in a low voice to her XO, and was pleased to watch the way he turned on his usual charisma and introduced the crew.

Since they’d all met at Hogwarts Academy of Space and Technology, the introductions mostly served the purpose to acquaint everyone with the positions that they served on the ship.

The Weasleys were first, as Hermione’s crew had four of the prolific Weasley bunch. Once a Pureblood house like the Slytherins, a Weasley had married a full-blooded Fel—so called for their feline attributes, reminiscent of the sleek, furry creatures of pre-Contact Earth—and were now considered blood traitors by the blood purists who believed that only pure humans should be the ruling class.

Though the marriage was several generations back, the Felin characteristics were strong with all of the Weasleys. Every single one of them had the long, graceful build that made them look like they were dancing whenever they moved, and the sharp, unnaturally fast reflexes. Unlike most of the Fel, who tended towards dark fur of mixed shades, the Weasleys had luxurious long locks of bright red-gold streaming from the top of their heads. The rest of their very short fur lay so fine across their pale skin they could almost be mistaken for tiny freckles.

Ginny, one of their pilots, and Harry’s girlfriend since the Academy days, had ‘hair’ that swished well past her hips, even when she had it up in her usual ponytail.

The three Weasley brothers all had long ponytails as well, and scruffy red-gold beards that tended to fool people into thinking they were more fierce and intimidating than they actually were.

Ron served as their Lead pilot, and the twins, Fred and George, handled ship security with extraordinary creativity and an alarming amount of enthusiasm.

There was no love lost between the House of Weasley and the House of Malfoy, and Hermione held her breath waiting to see if a fight would break out immediately. But Ginny knew how to hold her tongue, and the twins knew how to bide their time, so it was only Ron who, fortunately, limited himself to a scowl and a hiss in the general direction of the Slytherins.

Harry introduced the Engineering team together. Dean Thomas was a Croc, the reptilian species that made their home on Crocodile Rock, and were known to be impervious to extreme temperature shifts—an ideal trait for someone handling the volatile substances and explosive technology in the Engineering room. His dark skin was a leathery grey-green color, and his eyes were large and amber and had the disconcerting ability to blink from the sides—when he bothered to blink at all.

As Harry was introducing Dean, the man standing beside him started to turn quite red. His face was the only thing that could be seen above the grey metal suit that covered his entire body, making him look like a droid. He seemed unaware that he was changing colors, but just as his color deepened to a burgundy, Dean calmly reached behind him and pulled the retractable helmet up and over his head.

No sooner had it latched to the suit than a loud _Boom_ shook the room. Flames blew up inside the helmet, engulfing the man’s head and blocking the view.

The rest of the crew leaned away from him, while the Slytherins jumped in surprise.

After a moment the flames gave way to a white steam that began to billow outwards. The helmet abruptly retracted to reveal the man’s face, pale once more. An extra cloud of steam, which smelled the tiniest bit like the smoke from a campfire with just a hint of heather, wafted away from him.

“Excuse me,” he said, sheepishly.

There was a collective smirk from the Gryffindors, but the Slytherins stared in shock.

“You have a Steamer working in the Engineering room?” Zabini asked in disbelief. “Isn’t that—” he paused, and Hermione internally commended him for making the effort to be tactful, “—a fire hazard?”

“Yes, well,” Harry began, clearly thinking that there wasn’t an argument anyone could make that they hadn’t already considered, “Seamus has an innate understanding of combustion and energy. Dean keeps an eye out for his…episodes…and together they keep the ship moving in tip-top shape.”

Cormac McLaggen, their tech-wizard, himself an Organic Mecha, or O-mecha, needed very little explanation with the faint glow of electrical energy coming off of him. A race of tiny ‘brains,’ the O-mechas liked to create ‘perfect’ bodies for them to use to interact with other species. The flesh was artificially grown, developed by splicing genetic coding from various races, and customized to each O-mecha’s specifications. Cormac appeared mostly humanoid outwardly, with the appropriate number of limbs and eyes. But he was much stronger than he looked, his movements much faster, his skin much softer, his golden brown hair perfectly curled around his angelic face.

Attractive by any standards, he exuded confidence and sensuality. Hermione could already see the Greengrass sisters swaying his general direction. It was a complication whenever they integrated new crew members, but his influence would wear off over time as they adjusted to him.

He’d been trying for years to get her into bed, but she found the exotic looks to be far too overwhelming to appeal to her. Cormac himself was…overwhelming.

Having Cormac onboard was almost as bad as having Lavender onboard. Lavender was half Naiad, raised on the planet Naia, and her long blonde curls were actually prehensile tendrils that twisted and curled with a life of their own, often stroking seductively along the arm of a possible male partner.

At the moment, with three admittedly handsome new male members in the vicinity, her hair swayed in a bewitching pattern that indicated awareness and interest.

Beside her, Hermione could feel Ron stiffen. His sensitive Felin nose probably sensed Lavender’s pheromones already activating.

She tried not to sigh again. She had suspected for some time that there was something between Ron and his ex-girlfriend, and now she knew for sure that what had been between the two was not over. She only hoped that they had the good sense not to cause trouble on this important mission. It’d be best if Lavender left the Slytherins alone, though Hermione wasn’t going to hold anyone back from creating whatever connections they wanted on her ship, as long as it wasn’t against regulations. She just wished it wasn’t always so…messy and dramatic.

It was likely, though, that being purebloods meant none of the Slytherins would be at all interested in the aliens or the ‘halfbreeds.’

Going around the room, Communications Officer Lee Jordan was next. Strangely good-natured for a troll, Lee used his humongous ears to constantly monitor transmissions and could zero in on the faintest of signals. He also had a tendency to monologue into the empty air.

Angelina Johnson handled Environmental Controls, and was their primary planetologist. The wet suit that she wore kept her dark, pearlescent skin damp when she was away from her salt water tank. The rainbow scales that dotted her face and arms gave away which region of Arielle, the water planet, that she was from.

Last, but certainly not least, was little Colin Creevey. A gnome-like creature from Gnoman’s Land, Colin had one giant eye and a curious nature that meant he saw and recorded _everything_. He tended to follow Harry around, who he idolized, and meticulously kept the ship’s records.

“Granger,” Parkinson’s whiny voice echoed loudly after the introductions had finished, “your crew is all Gryffindor? We’re going to K13 on a ship of Gryff-raff?”

There was the slightest stiffening at the way she used the term. ‘Gryffindor’ was a label that applied to all the non-human species that made up the Federation. The Slytherins were the Pureblood humans that espoused human rule and human preservation above all others. Ravenclaws were Pureblood humans who espoused knowledge and learning and expansion into space above all else, but still believed in keeping humans separate from contamination by other species. Gryffindors were everyone else.

Gryff-raff was a casual label that applied to the heterogenous gatherings of mixed-blood species. It was used by Gryffindors in an affectionate and casual way. But used by a Pureblood Slytherin it was the same as calling everyone in the crew a mongrel.

Hermione had not wanted to have to exert authority onto the new members so quickly, but she could not allow the insult to pass. And she knew she had to set the tone early or risk having her authority undermined.

She took a step towards Parkinson, but was stopped by Malfoy’s voice cutting through the air.

“Out of line, Parkinson. Apologize to the captain and her crew.”

Parkinson’s mouth pursed, clearly unhappy with the expectations of her, but she did not question her commander. Sulky, she said, “My apologies, Granger.”

“ _Captain_ Granger,” Malfoy corrected her icily.

“But I outrank her, Draco,” she started.

“Not on her own ship, Parkinson.” The look he pinned her with made it clear that he was extremely unhappy with her behavior, and Hermione would bet that there would be a much firmer conversation happening behind closed doors as soon as the Slytherins were away on their own.

“My apologies,” Parkinson started again, “ _Captain_ Granger.”

Both crews were avidly watching the dispute, the tension thicker in the air than Seamus’ smoke.

Hermione waited a moment, and then inclined her head to accept the apology. She added, for the benefit of all of the new crew members, “We are not always so formal on the ship. I do not require my rank to be used every time you address me.”

Parkinson scoffed at that, despite Malfoy’s warning touch on her arm. “You want me to call you Hermione, then? And you’ll call me Pansy? And then we’ll braid each other’s hair?”

The little witch was determined to pick a fight.

But Hermione had dealt with much, much worse, and she would not be manipulated on her own ship. “Calling me Granger will be more than sufficient.” She paused. “And if you touch my—”

“—touch my hair, you die!” Fred and George chorused with her.

The other Gryffindors fell apart laughing, the tension broken in an instant.

It was no secret that Hermione was particular about her hair. The wild curly locks were sometimes loose, and sometimes secured tightly to her head, but after years of bullying at school because of it, she’d reached an uneasy treaty with her hair, and part of it involved not letting anyone else touch it.

Parkinson did not look pleased that after her attempts to pit the crews against each other that the Gryffindors were now easily laughing.

Malfoy made his introductions quickly. When he introduced Parkinson as his executive officer, Hermione looked at him in surprise. They must be sleeping together. It was the only explanation for why she would be allowed to get away with that kind of outrageous behavior and still hold such a high rank.

The Greengrass sisters, Daphne and Astoria, were planetologist and xenologist, respectively. Blaise Zabini was their botanist and general biologist, a position he shared with Parkinson. And Theodore Nott handled their communications and records. Malfoy himself did chemist duties, in addition to being the leader of the expedition.

Introductions completed, the Gryffindors drifted off to return to their duties, or to catch a nap before they launched. Harry proceeded to show the Slytherins to their quarters.

Hermione could hear the conversation as they walked away.

“If you say your name for the Fat Lady, she’ll record your voice imprint and you will be the only one with access to your rooms.”

“The Fat Lady?”

“That’s the ship computer.”

“You named her the Fat Lady?”

“Well, actually, she sort of named herself. She refuses to answer to Computer.”

Hermione smiled at the confusion in their voices, and turned to head towards her Ready Room.

“Granger,” a voice stopped her.

Malfoy hadn’t left with the rest of his crew. She noticed he didn’t call her ‘Captain’ Granger, either, and wasn’t sure whether it was a slight, or it was him following her direction to be more casual.

“Can we have a private word?” he requested.

She’d expected it, of course, but would have liked a few minutes to herself to get over the shock of having a contingent of Slytherins aboard her ship, before having to have a face-to-face with Commander Draco Malfoy, of all people.

“Of course, Malfoy, this way,” was what she said, instead.


	3. Chapter 3

The captain’s Ready Room was a cozy little compartment, with just enough space for a desk and a few chairs. The walls were covered with shelves of actual paper books, a luxury on which Hermione splurged her salary whenever she was landside. The cream-colored walls were soothing to her, relaxing her sensitive brown eyes from all the silver and metal and white in the ship.

The accents and the trim were the deep red of the Gryffindors, appropriate for a ship of Gryffs. Behind the desk hung three flags, the Federation flag, with its black and white crest, the Gryffindor flag, with its lion rampant, and the flag of Earth 2, home of the Fey, Hermione’s native planet.

She felt a sense of pride and purpose when she walked into her Ready Room and faced those symbols of her identity and the people she served. She assumed Malfoy felt the opposite as he gazed on them, and the thought both irritated her and pleased her.

Though he obviously noticed them, he didn’t comment on her choice of decoration. She did notice his eyes linger on the books, though, and she wondered about the famed Malfoy library, and if it was really as big as the rumors said it was.

She sat down in her chair, forcing herself to be casual, but Malfoy continued to stand, his posture stiff.

He’d asked to speak with her, so she waited for him to break the silence.

“This is an extremely important mission, Granger,” he finally began. He was stating the obvious, so she didn’t bother commenting on it. “The Wizengamot was extremely concerned that this matter of a new intelligent species be handled with the utmost care and diplomacy.”

She couldn’t help herself. “So they sent you and Parkinson?”

He winced the tiniest bit. She wouldn’t have seen it if she wasn’t watching for his reaction. “Pansy was out of line. She thinks it’s her job to push the boundaries and establish dominance wherever we go. It’s not…personal.”

“When it affects my crew, I’m going to take it personally, Commander.”

The sharp tone caused him to look at her, and the thought crossed her mind that his eyes were the same color grey as the metal of the ship. But instead of being cold and harsh, they didn’t hurt her at all to look on them.

“I thought you weren’t so formal all the time.”

“Malfoy,” she conceded.

“Draco,” he corrected her, smirking and finally sitting down in a chair.

“We’ll see.”

He started again. “So, Hermione,” and the way he said her name hung awkwardly in the air, as if neither of them could decide if they liked it, “I’m going to need your personnel records. I need to know everything about your crew.”

“You mean you didn’t research us ahead of time, then?”

“It didn’t seem like you researched us, if the look on your face when we walked up was any indication.”

“Kingsley said your identities needed to remain confidential until you arrived.”

“Well, he told us the same. And it was as much of a surprise to me as it was to you, to see you standing there waiting to _welcome_ us to the ship.”

“I’m sure your horror could not begin to match mine.”

He leaned back in his chair and definitely seemed amused at that statement. “Scared you, did we, Granger?”

So it was back to Granger. That was definitely more comfortable for the both of them.

“Of course not, Malfoy,” she responded testily, even knowing he was trying to rile her up. “But you know we all have history together, and tackling an important mission and a long journey doesn’t bode well when you have two groups that dislike each other as much as ours do.”

“The mission is of the utmost importance,” he repeated.

“Exactly,” she said. “I don’t like you. You’ve always hated me. But there’s no reason we can’t have a successful mission, and now that the initial shock and confrontation of the two crews is out of the way, we can focus on integrating everyone for the temporary time that we’re together.”

There, that sounded perfectly reasonable. Hermione almost nodded to herself. She sounded like a proper captain, putting the needs of the mission and her crew ahead of her personal feelings. She waited for Malfoy to agree with her, but was disconcerted when his face showed no expression and he just continued staring at her.

He reached one hand to rub along his sharp chin, thinking.

Finally he said, “What makes you think I hated you?”

She had to think back for a second, trying to remember what she’d said. “Malfoy, you treated us all vilely in school. You took points away from us whenever possible, you followed us around making fun of everything we did, you got us in trouble with the teachers, and used every advantage to disqualify Harry and Ron from playing Quidditch or from passing their classes and—” The crimes he’d committed against their school-age selves just started to roll across her tongue. Bringing up all the memories was surprisingly easy, despite all the years that had passed.

In her mind’s eye, she saw tiny Hermione, Harry, and Ron, constantly beleaguered and beset by the evil Malfoy. It stirred her irritation.

“I admit,” he interrupted her diatribe, “that I never liked Potter and Weasley. But I don’t see anything in that list to suggest that I targeted you specifically.”

She glared at him as a barrage of insults flew threw her mind in a blur. “You made fun of my hair,” she said, in a voice as cold as space.

His gaze shot up to the curls that surrounded her head, and she saw something flicker in his eyes. Surely he wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t remember. She opened her mouth to recite examples verbatim.

“Well, you have to admit,” he drawled lazily, “it was rather unattractive. At the time.”

She didn’t know why those words hurt so much. She knew she’d been a bit of an ugly thing growing up. Her head of bushy hair had been a favorite target of bullies because the obvious imperfection was so unusual for a Fey, who had long ago genetically altered those types of flaws out of the gene pool. She wanted to retort, but was afraid that if she said something, it would give away how emotional this trip down memory lane was making her.

“Looks like you grew into your hair, Granger,” he said, softly, leaning one arm onto the desk. “I bet no one makes fun of it now.”

They didn’t. Because in the manner of the Fey, she’d taken the time to analyze what made her hair different and found the solution to making it healthy and thriving. Instead of a fluffy bush, she had beautiful curly locks. More than one mecha had offered her plenty of money to give her hair to them. More than one had tried to take it.

“If you touch my hair,” she said, reflexively, “you—”

“—die.” He raised one eyebrow. One long finger tapped a restless pattern on the desk, before he leaned back again, crossing his arms. “Yes, I heard. I don’t blame you. You need to protect your assets.”

There was something in the way he said it that made her ship suit feel uncomfortably tight. This entire conversation was confusing and upsetting, and not at all what Hermione had expected.

There was still one more thing, though. And it had been weighing on her for years. More than any of the other things. She shouldn’t bring it up, but she couldn’t stop herself.

“You called me a Mudblood.” She didn’t say it very loudly. She didn’t need to. “You were the _first_ person to call me a Mudblood.”

He turned his head as if she’d slapped him. Maybe he did remember.

Earth 2, a planet very similar to old Earth, if a little younger and a little less hospitable, had been settled by humans early in the colonizing days. The terrain was hostile, and illness ravaged many of the populations. Against Federation law, the planet began to experiment with genetic adaptations. Tiny things that no one would notice, but it helped them adjust to their new home, not just to survive, but to flourish.

Generations later, the humans from Earth 2 were no longer fully human from a scientific standpoint. Their ears had the slightest of points to them. Their teeth were just a bit sharper. Their skin, slightly thicker than the average human’s, had an unearthly golden glow.

They called themselves the Fey, after the legends of Earth.

And the unaltered humans called them Mudbloods.

Two centuries and three wars later, Fey had equal status with all the other species in the Federation. But there were still attitudes—and language—that pervaded society. The Mudbloods were the lowest of the low, because they’d compromised their humanity, had deliberately turned their backs on their own species.

At the tender age of 14 Turns, Draco Malfoy had introduced her to prejudice and bigotry. And she had slapped him across the face.

It hadn’t been the worst prejudice she’d ever experienced. It had just been the first. And the scene stood out starkly in her memory.

Her words echoed in the little Ready Room, bouncing off the walls, circling around tighter and tighter until she felt like a band inside of her would snap.

Slowly, he turned to face her again, leaning forward to rest his arms tiredly on his legs. The amused lightness in his tone was completely gone when he said, “It seems I owe you an apology.”

Somehow that angered her. She wasn’t looking for his sympathy or his pity. She just needed an acknowledgment that there were things—big things, important things—between them, and that they were real and valid.

“That’s not what I meant, Malfoy.”

“No, you're right.” He lifted a hand to stop her from saying more words. “You’re right. I should never have called you that.”

She didn’t know what to say to that—had never expected to hear her childhood bully admit to being wrong.

“I could give you excuses,” he said. “But there aren’t any. Being young is not an excuse. Being raised with words and views like that is not an excuse. Having a boyhood crush and trying to get you to notice me is not an excuse.”

Her mind tripped over those words. His phrasing was tricky, but it sounded like he meant…

“There are no excuses,” he continued. “And I'm not a child anymore. I can take responsibility for my actions, both from then and now. And I owe you an apology. I’m really sorry, Granger. I was sorry then, too, but I didn’t say anything. I was an arrogant little shit.”

The echo of his smirk was back. “And I’ve basically grown into an arrogant big shit. But hopefully one that knows better now than to speak derogatorily of an entire people.”

There was something in those grey eyes that pulled at her. She’d never seen him like this. Serious, real, thoughtful, talking to her like an equal.

Draco Malfoy had grown up, and that angry connection that had vibrated between them all those years ago somehow lost its teeth in an instant.

The memories still hurt and probably always would. But she couldn’t bring herself to be mad about them right at this moment. Not when he was looking at her like that, like the next words she said were going to decide his fate.

She looked away from his face, needing a second to think.

His last words finally filtered through her heavy thoughts.

Something about them didn’t click for Hermione. “But aren’t you a Slytherin?”

It was the exact wrong thing to say. She could see his face close up and the hard edge come back into his eyes. The grey wasn’t warm anymore, it was sharp like flint, like steel.

“I’m a Slytherin, so I must be a racist, right?”

She looked at him confused. Pureblood supremacy was literally the platform that the Slytherin party ran on. She didn’t know why he could possibly be offended by that. And she didn’t see how she could reconcile his words with his political and military choices.

He stood up, clearly ready to leave. “You know what, Granger? You’re right again. I’m a Slytherin. And this Slytherin needs to examine your personnel records. To protect the integrity of the mission, I need to know exactly what I’m dealing with, so I know who to trust.”

She let him take the conversation back to business, unsure of what had just happened to cause the sharp change in his tone. “You can trust every single member of my crew, Malfoy. We have proved ourselves repeatedly, and I would trust each one with my life.”

“I hope you’re right,” was all he said. He took his personal viewer out, prepared for a file transfer.

But Hermione had all of her records on paper. From an old-fashioned filing cabinet behind her, she produced several folders of documents printed on curious pale blue and white patterned paper.

“For security purposes, the confidential information is here in these folders. These are the only copies, and I expect them back. The public information you can find in the Federation database.”

He reached to take the folders, but she held them back just out of reach.

“And your crew, Malfoy? Are they trustworthy?”

“Yes,” he bit off, snatching the folders from her hands.

“I will be happy to determine that for myself when you send me their records as well.”

“I already transferred them to you,” he said as he turned his back on her to exit.

“Malfoy,” she said, just as the doors swished open.

He paused on the threshold but didn’t turn.

“I appreciate it. What you said, I mean.” She didn’t want to say more with the door wide open, and he wasn’t turning around to give her an opening. “Thank you.”

He stood in the doorway a moment longer, and then took a breath and left, but she knew that he’d heard her.


	4. Chapter 4

Leaving a space station wasn’t anywhere near as spectacular as launching from a planet, but the strict formalities were always observed rigorously on all military vessels.

This meant that, as a senior officer and the commander in charge of the mission, Draco found himself on the bridge with the captain and the other officers on duty.

You wouldn’t know it to look at them, though, as none of them, not even Granger, was in uniform. Granger and Potter, at least, conceded to wear their ranking bars on their shirts, but everyone else looked like they could have been headed to the observation deck to watch a comet viewing.

“We’re a bit informal in our dress, most of the time,” Potter told him inanely, without even a hint of apology. Draco didn’t bother dignifying the observation with a response.

He was led over to the Navigation console where Brown was already seated, the thick ropes of her hair drifting his direction as he approached.

The sultry smile on her face had him coming to a halt a safe distance away. Her smile only seemed to grow wider as if she knew why he kept space between them. Her hair curled into coy tendrils.

“And where can I take you, Commander?” The gentle tinkling of her voice seemed heavy with innuendo.

Unfazed, Draco held out his electronic viewer with the coordinates of the planet C00 in the K13 sector, their destination.

Pleased, and immediately distracted, Brown pulled up several star charts and started to calculate the series of hyperspace jumps that would get them to where they needed to go in the shortest amount of time.

It took only a moment of watching her work to realize that Brown, like many of the Naiads, navigated using their ancient method of ‘Reading the Stars.’ Modern navigation experts generally considered the technique to be little better than relying on intuition, so it caused Draco a moment of alarm to think that their entire journey was in the hand of someone who could make a split second course change because their tea leaves had indicated some star’s karma was fading in the east, or some such drivel.

As if he could see the consternation on his face, Potter put a hand to his elbow, directing him away.

There was an empty seat beside the Captain’s chair, and Draco settled into it for the launch, uncomfortably aware that Granger would soon be sitting next to him.

In the few hours since he’d left her in the Ready Room, he hadn’t had occasion to speak to her again, but he was irritated at the brief loss of control he’d had when he’d stormed out.

She’d been right to call him out for saying that he could respect other peoples while he was still a prominent member of the elitist political party.

He knew how it looked, and most of the time he didn’t care.

He knew what his beliefs were. His team knew where he stood. He was well aware of the goals he was striving for, and the risks if he were ever found out. And most of the time, he didn’t care that the facade he gave to the rest of the world was of an arrogant, racist prick.

But it mattered that _she_ thought it.

He’d forgotten about her over the years since Hogwarts. Forgotten about their rivalries, their childish disagreements and petty squabbles. Forgotten about his secret fascination.

And then he’d seen her standing at the top of those steps, the Captain’s bars glinting on her shoulders. The surge of enthusiasm at seeing her again had taken him by surprise, and was not dampened at the irritation at also having to see Potter and Weasley again.

The fire in her eyes, that knowing gaze, that quiet confidence she’d always had—it distracted him so he’d forgotten all the rest of it.

When she reminded him, he remembered suddenly the sting of her hand on his face. He recalled the tear-filled eyes of the child that had grown into the woman before him, and felt a profound regret.

Years and years and a lifetime, it seemed, had gone by since then. He was a different person now, but he was masquerading as the same person. And the false skin had never chafed so much as it did now.

For an instant, he’d let his guard down and been inexplicably hurt that she didn’t take his word at face value.

There was something about her that had always gotten under his skin, and for the briefest moment, he’d managed to forget the importance of this mission. Especially with the disturbing reports coming to him from his secret intelligence network, he had to remain on his guard and not allow any more slip-ups like that.

Granger sat in her chair, leaning back and tucking her legs under her like a child.

This was the least professional ship he had ever been on.

Knowing it would probably be expected, he allowed his disdain to shine through in his expression.

He rather thought she’d be irritated at his judgmental attitude, had almost been anticipating that flash of fire in her eyes.

Instead she looked at him with a hint of concern. She couldn’t lie worth a damn, and it was painfully clear in her gaze that she was still thinking about their last words and that she’d somehow realized he’d been unusually vulnerable.

Mentally, he kicked himself again.

Outwardly, he put on his best sneer. “This is the best your crew has to offer? They look like you contracted the cheapest labor you could find at the first available port.”

“Well, we can’t all be born into positions of power,” was her acid rejoinder.

“And I saw your Naiad’s ‘calculations,’ if one could even call them that. What are the odds we’re actually going to get there in one piece, and in a timely fashion?”

To his surprise, she looked over her shoulder where Brown was frowning in concentration at her screen, and then turned back and wrinkled her nose. “I’m not a fan of the method, myself. But she’s had an extremely reliable record. And Ron’s a wonderful pilot who manages to make the most of the route she plans. Ginny’s great, too, but Ron seems to have an innate understanding of Lavender’s patterns. We’ve never gone off-course,” she stated proudly.

Draco didn’t have anything to say to this casual type of conversation, so he turned away, ostensibly to watch the screen as they prepared for the first jump.

Thanks to the inertial dampeners, there was almost no sense of movement as they gained speed out of the solar system, and transitioned into the first leap into hyperspace.

As always, it seemed anti-climatic after all of the checklists and the confirmations.

Around him, casual conversation continued uninterrupted, until the computer (he was _not_ going to call her ‘The Fat Lady’) announced that they were currently en route.

“Estimated time of arrival,” the computer chimed happily, “is 22 days, 15 hours, and 35 minutes. “

“Thank you, Fat Lady,” Granger said. “Can you also please announce the Captain’s Dinner to the crew?”

“Of course, Captain!” The computer’s voice seemed to change between formal and informal voices, almost as if there were a real personality behind it.

The ship-wide announcement was then heard. “The Captain’s Dinner, traditionally held on the first night of a launch, will be served promptly at 19:00:00 in the Common Room. All crew is expected to be in attendance. Ta, see you there!”

Draco rolled his eyes at the computer’s affectations of human behavior.

“I assume you did that for the benefit of the Slytherins,” he addressed Granger.

With no change in her expression, she said, “They are part of the crew, are they not?”

He frowned, finding no advantage in mingling with the Gryffindor crew, but seeing no reason to break what seemed to be a ship-tradition. “Unfortunately so,” he answered.

“Then I’ll see you there, Commander,” she said, turning her attention back to her own electronic viewer screen.

The way her attitude clearly dismissed him from the bridge was enough to make him scowl. But he didn’t say anything more as he retreated to his tiny quarters, where he planned to thoroughly go through the Fortuna Major’s personnel files.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel the need to apologize for this chapter. The large cast of crazy characters got a bit out of hand. I do hope you find it as fun to read as I found it to write.

A Captain’s Dinner was a tradition held on many ships, usually at special times, or at certain important points on a trip or mission. It might be a formal dinner, or a recognition dinner, or, in some cases, a _themed_ dinner, but it was always at the Captain’s prerogative.

Having it held on the very first day was often considered a hope for an auspicious journey. In some circles, usually those who had been through the war, it was held at the beginning because it was the only time the crew could be guaranteed to be together—before their irreplaceable losses caused empty seats. Often, a Captain’s Dinner would be held on the last day as well, with chairs left vacant to remember their fallen mates.

None of these somber thoughts pervaded the Gryffindor crew, though, as they arrived in the Common Room, dressed as casually as ever, and jockeyed for seats. The elegant sounds of classical opera that played through the ship’s speakers contrasted with the Gryff-raff who were living up to their name.

The Slytherins were once again in full dress uniform, the gloomy dark green perfectly complementing their appalled expressions, as an assortment of stretchy ship-pants and colorful prefab tops paraded by.

It was clear that they expected to sit near the Captain, as the elite Slytherin rankings almost always outranked the Gryffindor ones. However, with the crew sitting willy-nilly where they chose, and no one wearing their ranking bars, they were forced to find themselves seats at the table in no particular order.

As if by design, Malfoy ended up exactly across the long table from Hermione, the furthest away he could possibly be. If they were arranged by rankings, he would have sat right next to her.

Still, she had little to be grateful for, as unfortunately, she had Lavender closest to hand, and Lavender was preoccupied with catching the attention of the dark-skinned man who sat on the other side of her.

Her hair kept darting out to casually caress his arm through the fabric of his uniform, and Zabini was doing his best to pretend it wasn’t happening.

On the other side of him, both Pansy Parkinson and Ron were watching Lavender’s behavior with disgust.

Lavender giggled and made a moue of surprise, as if she couldn’t be expected to control what her hair chose to do.

On Hermione’s other side sat little Colin, his eye opened wide as he avidly took in the scenes all around him. Since he tended to follow Harry around, he could often be found sitting beside him, as he was now.

Harry was rather used to this little shadow, and so he wasn’t paying him any attention at all, as he spoke in low tones with his girlfriend.

Dinner had barely begun, and everyone was tucking heartily into whatever foods they most preferred, when the first hint of discord surfaced.

Cormac, who would never be caught dead in ship-pants or with a single hair out of place, made some particularly suggestive remarks to Daphne Greengrass where she sat across the table from him, clearly marked out as his next conquest.

The tall, slim blonde was incredibly attractive, and exuded a quiet air of confidence. Hermione was not surprised at all that she would catch his eye. Hiding a grin, she thought that it might be nice to have some of the attention lifted from herself. Cormac never crossed the lines, but he also never gave up. And she was tired of telling him that she was absolutely not interested in sleeping with him. No matter how many ‘attachments’ he claimed to have acquired especially for her.

But Nott recoiled in distaste at the sight of Cormac flirting with Daphne.

“Don’t you find that thing absolutely disgusting?” His glare was aimed at Daphne, refusing even to look at the man beside him as he delivered his insults. “They’re just brains…brains occupying and operating a physical body like a tiny ship.” He shuddered.

Nearby, Parkinson sniffed in agreement. Daphne had the grace to look a little bit ashamed at her peers, but didn’t say anything in his defense.

Cormac, the ever unflappable, just winked at her as if to tell her he didn’t blame her for her friends’ prejudices.

That kind of language was absolutely unacceptable, though, and Hermione was just opening her mouth for a set down, when Zabini spoke up in a considering tone.

“If you think about it, brains occupying and operating a physical body are literally what all of us are.”

It took a moment for the rest of the crew to realize what he’d just said, and then the Gryffindors found this joke to be hilarious.

Parkinson and the other Slytherins didn’t seem pleased by this nonchalant observation. Malfoy shot him a look that Hermione didn’t understand, but Zabini stared at him before reaching for his goblet for a drink.

“Hoho, I’ve got a brain in my body, too, Cormac!” Dean said, clapping the O-mecha on the shoulder as he made his way back to his seat.

“Yeah,” Cormac said, an exaggerated sneer on his face, “but I’ve heard that the brains of a Croc are vestigial. I didn’t know it was true till I met you.”

Dean just laughed again, while on the other side of him, Seamus chuckled and little puffs of white steam exited from his suit.

Ginny, in particular, on the other side of Nott turned to him and said, “You know, I’ve always assumed there’s a brain inside the physical bodies I interact with. But your insistence that the combination is unusual is making me question whether there have been bodies without brains in front of me all along.” Her sultry feline gaze swept down and then back up again. “How would one even know the difference?” she purred.

Hermione sent Harry a warning look, trying to remind him to prevent Ginny from insulting one of their guests on the first night. It didn’t matter that the Slytherins had no compunction about doing just that, and that their commander made no move to stop them, Hermione didn’t want any fights on her hand. But Harry just shrugged as if to say, ‘You stop her, then.’

Nott glared at Ginny, but didn’t deign to answer the obvious bait. He shot a glare at Malfoy, also, who ignored him and went back to silently eating his dinner, stiff-backed and proper.

Astoria, who already seemed to be a bit of a peacemaker, turned to Fred and George and said with a forced smile, “Speaking of differences, what’s the best way to tell the two of you apart?”

Fred and George exchanged confused looks with each other.

“How do you tell us apart?” they repeated in unison. “How do you tell the two of _you_ apart?” They each pointed at a different Greengrass sister.

Astoria seemed taken aback at the question. Daphne, who still wasn’t completely recovered from Cormac’s flirting, answered for her, “Well, we look completely different.”

“Exactly!” Fred said, lifting his goblet to his brother, who clinked it without even looking at him. “She’s got it!”

“But seriously,” George started.

“Siriusly,” Ron echoed, with a snicker.

Angelina flicked a water droplet from her suit at his face, making him hiss in irritation. “It wasn’t funny the first one hundred times you said it,” she complained.

“It’s funny because Sirius is a star, and this is a _star_ ship, and Harry’s godfather is a Sirius, too!” Ron protested.

A few more pieces of food launched at Ron from around the table, accompanied with good-natured groaning.

George shook his head at Ron’s poor attempts at humor, but wouldn’t let his question go. “How _do_ you tell the two of you apart?” he asked the women again.

Recovered by now, Astoria frowned slightly and said slowly, as if speaking to a child, “We have completely different colored hair, for one.” She pointed at her own head of brunette hair, twisted back neatly into a intricate coiffure at the back of her neck. Then she pointed at Daphne’s pale blonde hair that draped becomingly around her face.

With exaggerated movements, the twins leaned forward, eyes squinting at the two women, trying to zero in on the difference.

After a moment, Fred asked out of the corner of his mouth, “Do you see it, Gred?”

George, who was staring into Astoria’s eyes while she tried not to blush, said, “I think I do, Forge.”

“You’ll have to explain it to me later, then.”

With a little huff, Daphne asked, “And how do you tell the two of you apart, then?”

“That’s easy,” George said, his attention diverted to the blonde.

“A real cinch,” Fred confirmed. “Just look at the way our fur lays. George’s goes to the right, and mine goes to the left.”

The twins both struck identical poses, their chins resting on their fists, leaning on the tabletop, a smoldering look in their eye.

“Oh, good ones, mates,” Cormac said. “You’ve almost got it. Just a bit more of a lip pout, I think.”

Both twins pushed their bottom lip out a tiny bit more, causing scattered laughs around the table.

Daphne leaned towards her sister and asked, sotto voce, “Do you see it, Astoria?”

Astoria, who was staring into George’s eyes and still trying not to blush, opened her mouth to say something, and then closed it again, just shaking her head.

“Ah, well,” Fred said, “you’ll get the hang of it.” He reached over to pat her hand. “That’s all right.” He nodded at George and gave a shrug. “Human eyes.”

“Indeed,” George lamented, “so lovely, but not nearly as useful as our own.”

“If we’re all done staring at each other?” Parkinson interrupted, not liking the direction the conversation was going, or the way Astoria didn’t seem to be able to stop blushing. “And can someone stop this ridiculous music,” she complained, “and play something fit for human ears?”

All the non-humans at the table bristled, but the music abruptly cut off.

“How dare you!” the Fat Lady wailed. “I’ve been practicing so hard! And I’ll have you know that was vintage Earth 1 opera!”

They heard what sounded partly like static and partly like sniffling. Parkinson’s eyes were wide with shock.

“In honor of our guests, too,” the Fat Lady lamented. “Well, see if I sing for you again, such ungrateful wretches.” She harrumphed, and despite the cajoling pleas for her to return, she didn’t make an appearance for the rest of the dinner.

In the awkward silence that followed, everyone gradually returned their attention to their own plates.

Everyone except for Ginny.

“Ginny,” Harry warned under his breath. The room was unfortunately quiet enough that everyone could hear him. “Stop staring at his forehead.”

Ginny’s eyes were trained onto Nott as he ate. “But Harry,” she whispered, “what if there’s really _nothing in there_? Ow!”

Harry must have kicked Ginny under the table, because she bared her teeth at him before stabbing mutinously at the meat chunks on her plate.

“Cormac.” Ginny’s voice was icy like the tail of a comet.

“Yes, darling,” Cormac drawled, leaning around Nott to turn those intense sea-green eyes onto her.

Her voice changed back to it’s normal silkiness. “Cormac, just hypothetically speaking, if you found a physical body in good condition, but without a brain—or perhaps just a really _small_ one—could you just hop in there and take it over?”

The rest of the table groaned and flinched at the thought.

“It’s a good question!” said Seamus.

“Not while we’re eating,” Ron complained, his mouth full of food.

Far from taking offense, Cormac seemed pleased at this opening to talk at length about himself.

“Actually, most people don’t know, but my people’s original state was to take over a physical host that already had a brain. The more evolutionarily advanced the host, the more skill the O-mech had to exert to dominate the host and subvert its free will. Learning its body was both a pleasure and a challenge.”

His eyes raked over Daphne again.

“Some chose a host that was strong or fast. Some chose a host that could fly or swim. Others chose a host more known for other…abilities.” Though he just managed to refrain from describing the other activities, the leer on his face left no doubt as to what abilities he was talking about.

“We’d just squeeze on in through those tight ear canals,” he continued, “wrap ourselves around the delectable little brain, and have our way with them, until it was time to upgrade to a better host.”

The Slytherins all looked a little green around the edges, the color heightened by the hue of their uniforms.

“Ah, the good old days,” he sighed. “When heroes were heroes. Of course, that wasn’t really sustainable, since we had to capture and subdue the hosts and the force of breaking them in meant we had to replace them pretty often. We eventually moved to farming hosts, and that went well for many centuries. When they got too old, we just put them…as your saying goes…out to pasture.”

Everyone at the table was staring at Cormac. Ron had stopped chewing, although the bulge in his cheek and the hair on his scruff standing on end indicated he was still listening avidly to the story.

Seamus’ white puffing had stopped, and Dean was staring unblinkingly, while Angelina was casually slurping up her seaweed soup.

Seeing the look of shock on everyone’s faces, he held out his hands. “Calm down, mates, we’re all _vegans_ now.” He held out his arms, curling them so the muscles would flex against the fabric of his obscenely tight spacesuit. “All of our bodies are custom-made to the highest quality specifications, and produced in factories certified cruelty-free. Centuries of evolution and the brightest scientific minds result in the masterpieces you see before you.”

He leaned back in his chair, showing off his broad chest. “I’d never trade this for a primitive human body.” With a quick glance at Nott, he said, “No offense, of course.”

Turning his attention back to the blonde beauty across from him who was riveted to his story, he casually said, “The male human body, in particular, has pitiful sexual stamina.” His voice dropped a few tones when he smoldered at her, “I like to take my time.”

Daphne rolled her eyes and turned away from him, but only just barely managed to hide her smile as she took a sip from her goblet.

Hermione didn’t see how anyone could find Cormac’s posturing attractive, but at least it was harmless. And the disturbed looks on the Slytherin’s faces was amusing enough that she had to take a sip from her own goblet to stop the chuckle that threatened to bubble forth.

“Well,” Harry suddenly chimed in, “at least we know why we all had to get those implants in our heads as part of our mixed-species inoculations. So Cormac here doesn’t take over our pitiful primitive brains.”

Cormac raised one eyebrow at Harry, but didn’t say anything.

Hermione felt the frown come to her face and sighed.

If she couldn’t rely on Harry, who could she rely on?

It was Seamus who started cackling, little hiccuping blurs of steam. “Good thing we got those inoculations, so we don’t have to worry about getting your damn cat fleas, either!”

“I have never had fleas a day in my life!” Ginny shot back, all fake offended dignity.

“Well, I’m thankful,” Fred said, “that the inoculations keep me from getting fin-rot on my no-no places. I’d hate to have to give up my best girl.”

The face Angelina turned on him could have frozen a more self-aware man, but Fred only tiptoed his fingers down her arm, jumping from rainbow scale to rainbow scale. “Don’t worry, love, I’d never give you up, even if you did give me fin-rot.”

Little Colin raised his hand, as he usually did before he spoke. Despite going on several interstellar missions together, he never seemed to lose his awe of the crew around him. “Harry, do you think cooties were included in the mixed-species inoculations? We’ve never had to worry about it before, but with the humans here…”

His voice trailed off ominously, his big eye wide and innocent.

Harry stifled his laughter. “Yes, Colin, I do believe we’re safe. If everyone’s all caught up on their booster shots, of course.”

A chorus of ‘aye’s went up around the table from the Gryffindors, while Hermione held to her fork rather tightly.

The Slytherins were looking more and more horrified the longer the conversation went on.

“What inoculations?!” Parkinson finally burst out in a panic, standing up and leaning away from Ron who looked properly offended.

“Oi!”

“We were supposed to get inoculations? Draco, did you know about this?”

The table burst into laughter. Dean made a croaking sound, while Lavender’s light giggles floated in the air, little tinkles like windchimes. Seamus started wheezing and turning red, and someone helpfully put his helmet on before he _boomed_. The helmet shot back immediately to reveal Seamus still wheezing with his mirth.

George was grinning, but Fred was guffawing, hanging off his brother’s shoulder.

Ron had started choking on his food, and Ginny casually pounded on his back until he made a hacking sound and spit out a suspiciously hairy ball.

Colin looked rather pleased with himself, while Cormac contented himself to a knowing quirk of his lips.

Despite Parkinson’s ire, Malfoy did not look at her. He turned to look at Hermione, instead, his head tilted with a stern expression on his face. His arms crossed in front of his chest, unamused.

Hermione just shrugged guiltily, dabbing at her mouth while she finished chewing her food. She cleared her throat, until she was sure that she wasn’t going to laugh in an undignified manner. “Parkinson, there’s no such thing as mixed-species inoculations. Harry was just joking, weren’t you, Harry?”

She reached far under the table, past Colin’s feet that swung in the air since they didn’t reach the ground, and she kicked Harry lightly with her boot.

A snicker escaped him before he brought himself under control and said, “Yeah, just fooling, Parkinson. Sorry, Captain,” he apologized.

Hermione knew him well enough to know his apology was entirely insincere. She tried not to look back at Malfoy, but with his eyes trained on her, she couldn’t help but catch his look. It was obvious he knew Harry’s apology was insincere also.

The rest of the table issued some half-hearted apologies to the Slytherins who were looking alternately confused and irritated at being made the butt of their joke.

“I can’t believe we have to spend the next six weeks with you filth,” Pansy spat out.

“Parkinson,” Malfoy’s voice echoed sharply.

He must have a full time job restraining that woman, Hermione thought. She had no idea how she could have gotten approved for a diplomatic mission.

Her own crew may be informal and rude, but not directly insulting and racist.

With a narrowing of her eyes, Parkinson sat herself done, making little huffing sounds.

Everyone returned to their meals, discussion effectively quashed by the tension in the room.

After a few moments where the only sounds were the scraping of metal utensils against plates, Zabini suddenly spoke up. “Wait a minute, do you mean to say there’s _nothing_ to prevent McLaggen from taking over our brains, then?”

The Gryffs erupted in giggles again, all except McLaggen, who calmly swirled the water in his goblet before responding. “Just my standards, love.”

* * *

By the time dinner was over, Hermione was just thankful that the two mixed crews hadn’t started another war. It was going to be a terribly long journey to the K13 sector if they couldn’t figure out how to get along. Not to mention that the success of the mission might depend on Slytherins and Gryffindors working together. It was her experience that a crew that worked well together had a better success rate, regardless of the details of the mission.

Which meant that she was going to have to find a way to get along better with Malfoy because leaders always had to lead by example.

She thought briefly that the prospect of finding common ground with the Slytherin Commander didn’t irritate her as much as it ought to.

Then she dismissed that errant idea and went to pacify her computer from the grievous insult to her singing abilities—just the first obstacle in what was sure to be a bumpy road through the stars.

**Author's Note:**

> This story will be continued after the Fest. I do not anticipate a long story, but there are still several more chapters to come.


End file.
